


Off

by extremesoft



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Contemplation, Denial of Feelings, Ficlet, Gen, Just Max failing miserably in trying not to develop feelings, M/M, Malaysian Grand Prix 2016, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 00:31:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13693104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremesoft/pseuds/extremesoft
Summary: He has never beenensnaredlike this, not by any of his teammates.





	Off

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere after the 2016 Malaysian GP.

_Something’s off._

Max doesn’t know what to call it. He doesn’t quite know what it is or what to do about it. It comes and goes. One moment he doesn’t even remember it exists, it's almost as if he’s managed to shake it off and leave it on the side of the road on one of his runs; and then one moment it screams at him, slaps him right on his face, drowns him and brings him back to the surface again, leaving him gasping for air.

It has raised its head over the course of the summer. The past summer. Max doesn’t want to think about it, but the seeds of it have been sown in spring, in the first two weeks of May to be precise, when the young Dutchman suddenly switched teams, and teammates as well in the process.

_Teammates…_

And there hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary about it back then. Daniel had been just another challenge to him. An excellent new opportunity to prove himself. Someone to fight and someone to beat; but also the only one to truthfully compare himself to and the only one to really observe, the one to try and gather all possible information to his own advantage from. And when Max had taken his maiden win in his very first race as Daniel’s teammate, he had felt inexplicable relief and overpowering triumph above everything else. He had struck like a bolt from the blue, he had overcome the challenge.

 _That_ challenge.

Max neither wants to nor really can think about it, but the further the summer has gone on, eventually passing and reluctantly letting autumn take its place, the greater a tribulation Daniel has become to him.

It’s not like there have been any problems on the track. Haven’t been and still aren’t. They are well-matched, equaling each other in fighting for wins, positions, points, chances; fighting until the eventual crowning or the bitter loss, each trying to rocket each lap even just one _half_ of a thousandth of a second quicker than the other. They get along almost exceptionally well, also, and it’s maybe partly because of each other they keep getting better and better all the time as the season goes on.

_But…_

It’s getting more and more difficult for Max to overlook the wide disarming grin on Daniel’s face, it’s harder and harder not to get absorbed in the soft flow of his warm voice and broad accent as he speaks, it’s almost strenuous to try not to stare at Daniel as he paces the paddock with the top of his overalls stripped, freely hanging sleeves swaying around his legs to the rhythm of him walking, and when Daniel glances at him it’s painstaking for Max to detach himself from the dark fiery gaze and look away.

Max doesn’t understand. That’s what he keeps repeating to himself. He has never been _ensnared_ like this, not by any of his teammates. Heck, if by anyone. Not that he’s had that many teammates at this point of course, but he’s also never had these kind of… problems before.

Max flings his phone to the farthest corner of the sofa on the other side of his lonely hotel room. He huffs, buries his face in his hands and rubs his flushed cheeks. He finds himself, to his own exasperation, spending more and more minutes of his hectic life just absent-mindedly scrolling through Daniel’s Twitter and Instagram and whatnot; chuckling at his jokes by himself, staring at his pictures, falling under the charms of his ember eyes and light-hearted smile. He knows he’s catching himself red-handed more and more often.

Like now.

He glances at the now abandoned phone. As if flinging it around would somehow help him to get rid of anything. As if flinging it around would somehow help him to get rid of…

Max bites his lip and lowers his gaze again. He well knows the end of the sentiment, even though he neither wants to nor really can think about it.

As if flinging his phone around would somehow help him to get rid of the _attraction_.

Max squeezes his eyes firmly shut. After the last Grand Prix in Malaysia Daniel had embraced him with all the fierceness of his immense joy after they had clinched an eagerly anticipated double win for the team. _Embraced_. Max vaguely remembers thinking about how good Daniel had felt against him, well-built and lean, he remembers imagining for one brief and very confused moment how his body, heated under the scorching sun, must have felt underneath the dark blue overalls. A desperate groan escapes from his throat as a flood of shame twists his insides into knots, the sheer rush of memories making his face redden. He remembers swearing he could have all but kissed Daniel in his fiery euphoria, right there on the parc ferme, in the middle of everything and everyone, if they hadn't had their helmets on. 

One fleeting moment, myriad unbidden thoughts. 

And even though he neither wants to nor really can think about it, no matter how much he keeps repeating to himself that he doesn't understand and no matter how far he flings his phone, he knows he'll never run or drive fast enough to get away from it. It will be there to meet him as soon as he stops. And he may not want to think about it, but he can’t help knowing he’ll have to face it eventually. He can’t help knowing, however vaguely, what it means when he wakes up in the middle of the night every now and then just to realize his dreams have all been about Daniel again.


End file.
